


Into the Coals

by Petrichor (Mythmaker)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Companionable Snark, Family Bonding, Gen, Gross Stuff Relating to Lovecraftian Monsters, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Multi, Nightmare Fuel, Peter Parker Actually Needs Sleep, Peter Parker Also Really Needs Them Dolla Dolla Bills Y'all, Peter Parker Needs Coffee, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Read The Notes For Timeline Compliance, Secret Identity, Slow-Burn Identity Reveal, Super Heroes Are Bad At Feelings, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Unreliable Narrator, mild whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythmaker/pseuds/Petrichor
Summary: Current List of Peter Parker’s Problems: Learning that there’s a corporate spy in Stark Industries. Keeping himself hidden from oh I don’t know everyone while still happily working toward a career with Stark Industries. Dealing with Guilt, The Most Unreasonable Emotion Ever. Etcetera.Then said corporate spy ends up being a Horror From Beyond and things get start getting really complicated.





	1. In which Peter plays with fire even when he’s just trying to make a living, dammit.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Homecoming and I love Into the Spider-Verse so much my heart melts, but I've had this in my head since the first Avenger's movie and I can't seem to kill it. Consider it kind of an AU for Homecoming and leave it at that. Tony Stark is too busy to play Batman The World's Greatest Detective and Peter's a little older, and this takes place after Iron Man Trois. No one knows his night/day/whatever-hour-is-most-inconvenient-for-Peter job; but they've definitely met in costume.
> 
> Also I should die for the crimes I've committed against everything else I've been working on to churn this tidbit out (I'm so sorry; brain does what it wants). I have no idea where it's going and honestly I may never finish it. But ... what I have, I will share. Might be a drabble collection or a short continuation. Who knows? Either way, thanks for reading folks. :)

There was an acrid, burning smell in the air, which meant either of two things: someone had tried to mess with the communal toaster (turning it up to any setting that wasn’t ‘1’), or one of the interns had spilled chemical substances. Again.

True, before he came here, Peter had always figured himself to be the clumsy one. Time spent in the labs with fellow internship awardees however, had thusly proved he wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought he’d been all his life. Maybe he got nervous once and had an Incident with the soldering iron, but besides that he’d been running a pretty good streak. And to be fair, Tony Stark had been in the room at the time – he was allowed a little hero worship/horror/embarrassment.

This time, it was thankfully just a newbie with the toaster.

“I swear to god,” said newbie proclaimed, eyes narrowed and gleaming. “These things are the worst.”

“It’s not as bad as the printer,” Peter consoled, his voice heavy with knowledge. Even with Stark Industries springing for the best of the best in almost every respect (interns got paid peanuts – some things never changed), office printers conspired against all living creatures. Peter swore one of his error messages read “Death To all Naked Apes” instead of the usual mishmash of numbers. He hadn’t used that one since. He also possibly blamed JARVIS.

“Amy,” the intern said, dropping her now blackened toast into the garbage can. She gave him a swift smile. “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” he responded, feeling old insecurities nibble at his confidence. She was black-haired and green eyed, and wearing a bob cut that complimented her round face. There was an Asian-esque quality to her features, but she seemed pretty well-mixed.

This was why he didn’t talk to people, he reminded himself as he realized he was staring a bit. “Sorry – I thought someone would have warned you about using the toaster.”

The girl smiled. “You’re one of the full-riders eh? I’ve heard your name before. Peter Parker, right?”

“My reputation tends to precede me, but it’s not a big deal,” he hurried to establish this fact. “I got lucky.”

“No such thing as luck in this crowd,” Amy corrected him firmly. “There’s only twelve of us, and we all worked our asses off to get here. What college you planning on going to?”

“ESU,” he said, feeling sheepish at her straight-forward acknowledgement. Not many people did that here. The scholarship interns were tough competitors and while many were polite, they all had the same goal in mind: get a permanent job here as soon as humanly possible doing the things they loved for lots of money. And there were only two spots open.

The only indication that she registered his response as was that her eyebrows went up a notch.  “Columbia,” she answered the unasked question and didn’t comment on his age or educational status, which made Peter genuinely like her. “What’s your focus?”

In truth, Peter didn’t like having to focus on anything. He tinkered in engineering, dabbled in biochem, dipped his toes in genetics, and spent his _copious_ spare time coding software to do all the things he was getting too lazy or impatient to do at work. Hardware was another story altogether.

He could hear the sarcasm at work in his head around the word ‘copious’. “I’m going with molecular engineering,” he said honestly. Because it was the one thing he really, truly, wanted to learn properly (that he really, _really_ couldn’t learn on his own.) “Though to be fair, a lot of what I do here is just …miscellaneous.”

“I’m in nanotech for my Masters,” she grinned. “We should make trouble together.”

Was this flirting? Peter wasn’t sure if this was flirting. Then again, he was never really sure when flirting happened. “Er…”

“I mean,” Amy must have realized how she had sounded, as her face seemed to pinken and backtrack (faces can backtrack). “We could make trouble. For a project; that is, I don’t have any ideas yet, but I have a lot of interests,” she insisted, waving a hand.

Peter blinked once, trying to realign himself to a center. “Well, I can definitely help you narrow it down. We can work together if you want – but I’m doing something on my own at the moment.”

“No, of course,” the girl rushed, managing a wary smile.

Peter smiled back as best he could, wondering already how he’d fit a joint project into his schedule. “Trouble sounds like Mr. Stark’s kinda thing anyway,” he said, trying to make her feel less awkward – which was not normally his thing. It was almost usually the other way around – like, 99% of the time, the other way around.

“Aren’t you his favorite?”

The brunet wasn’t expecting this response. “What?” and of course his voice made a weird noise. He refused to call it ‘cracking’ because it was so not.  He was the youngest in the intern pool (most of them being grad students or PHD’ers) by just barely scraping eighteen years; he didn’t need any more reasons for anyone to tease him about it.

Amy brightened, settling back into teasing. “That’s what I heard. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“What …I – no?” he stammered. “You’re kidding.”

“I would never joke,” Amy’s voice dropped an octave. Then lifted back up as she continued. “Rumor has it your project is basically on a fast track to actual production.”

The idea had been pretty simple. Frankly, Peter really wanted a better suit, and this was a place to take a stray idea and run with it (potentially until you fell off a cliff and had to start over, but still). Cuttlefish were remarkably adept at camouflage, and Peter really liked the idea of being extra stealthy at will (not all the time). A fabric that could react to the will of the owner – or at its most basic level, whatever surface it was placed on – was basically investor bait. If he could get it to work.

Luckily, it was actually on its way. Now it was down to coding the software that got the whole ‘mental link’ thing down – it was the hardest part by far.

“Ah…yeah, I suppose so. Didn’t know I was a favorite….”

For many, many reasons, Peter’s dream job was a risky one. Before Oscorp had those scandals last year, Stark Industries had always been second place. It didn’t dip after Tony Stark declared himself as Iron Man, and raised upward to first after last year when Stark Industries became a place of true innovation not just weapon creation – which Peter had wanted nothing to do with even before the whole super hero thing. Honestly, he was to everyone else just a teen of modest means with a dead uncle, who wanted a good scholarship to ease his own (and Aunt May’s) financial burden.

The other risky business was the fact that Spider-man was someone more or less tolerated by SHIELD (usually less) and at least accepted by the Avengers as a known quantity. He worked with them like once after the Manhattan thing, but he wasn’t one of them. It used to rankle Peter before he got this job – now he was a little glad. There was no way he was ready to reveal himself to anyone; not for a long while. Not even to people that he admired, if they required his vulnerability to be a member of their treehouse club.

He still felt lucky, even if there was very little luck involved.

“You are, I think,” Amy confirmed, leaning back and looking a little impressed. “Considering you had no idea, I think it’s a genuine opinion.”

Peter did the proper thing and blushed and stammered some more until they both started talking shop instead. Thank goodness Amy actually had social skills.

 

 

 

Two weeks later someone decided it would be a good idea to try and steal trade secrets from Stark Industries.

‘Good idea’ was obviously a relative term here.

Other than that, it had been peachy keen (as his Aunt sometimes said). 

But of course, Peter noticed something in the way that only he could, or would notice, perhaps. There had been the faintest of tingles in the back of his head since the middle of last week. Peter initially wrote it off as the usual spider-sense reaction to ‘some asshat is playing with fire, chemically speaking’ – because frankly, that’s what it had normally amounted to. Still, he felt on edge and restless.

…And then he saw the time stamps.

Every time anyone logged in to the main Stark Industries database, there was always a time stamp left behind. The login was a basic ‘admin’ username (which meant someone in tech support or maybe one of the upper management or main project leads), which had permission to access almost any file. It wasn’t unusual to see someone using ‘admin’ to retrieve old or protected files. What was unusual was that it was happening every night, at the exact same time, and each access was for something in CLASSIFIED.

Obviously, Peter thought it was odd, but there were a lot of protocols in place for anything trying to hack into Stark Industries’ database. Peter had seen some of the code for this first hand; he knew it was basically a hydra made of zeroes and ones. It was designed to make it difficult even for an advanced AI like JARVIS to beat.

All this accessing forbidden files and being secretive … it meant that someone inside Stark Tower was directly responsible.

Peter debated taking this to his immediate supervisor, but he wasn’t sure if he should. What if it was totally within norms? He was just an intern, and it wasn’t like he knew every current project. So he figured maybe he should get more proof.

Which was led him to exploring Stark Tower near to midnight, sans his normal sneaking wear (Spider-man sneaking around Tony Stark’s building did not good PR make; it wasn’t like he needed more libel attached to his superhero persona), and carrying around his tablet to make it seem like he was just going for a walk and doing work at the same time. He was very sure JARVIS was aware he was present, as well as anyone else with the proper badge.

There were the usual janitors and a couple of other software interns waiting for code to compile. But then Peter ran into someone he didn’t expect.

After the aliens in Manhattan and the Worlds-Almost-Colliding event that nearly happened in London, Stark Tower was home base for the Avengers for the time being, as well as anyone they were currently allied with. Nothing permanent, but then it was more or less a home regardless. Mr. Stark – per media appearances – was enthused and open about the prospect of having some kind of safe haven. Spider-man had been up to the topmost levels, briefly. It was _nice_ up there, and not just because of all the gadgets. Hero worship of the superhero team had waned, but he was a little awestruck whenever any of them deigned to speak with him. Usually they were wry in response to his presence, amused maybe – Peter didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if they were friends. They didn’t – couldn’t – see him as young; it was more that they considered him ‘fresh’ to the hero business.

…He had to admit that still bothered him. He started hero’ing when he was fourteen. Like, please.

Still it was a little funny and alarming to meet a somewhat ruffled looking Dr. Banner in the elevator.

“Oh – good evening Dr. Banner.”

_Don’t look like a fish out of water, nimrod. Be cool. Be cool, dangit._

Actually, Dr. Banner seemed alarmed to see him as well. He was a recluse on his better days, and the only reason Peter knew who he was at all, was because when Mr. Stark insisted on viewing the intern projects he brought the often low-key scientist with him. Most of the scientists in the building remembered Dr. Banner from his days being one of the foremost experts on gamma radiation and molecular biology, though he hadn’t exactly published much after that.

“Good evening,” the man finally replied, his lips tilting upwards on the right ever so slightly. “You’re …Parker, right?”

Dr. Banner knew his name? Peter tried not to look as shocked as he felt, and was sure he failed miserably. “Uh…yes. Yes – sorry.”

To his further surprise, the man chuckled. “Pardon, I’ve just heard about you from Stark. He mentioned your project with great enthusiasm.”

Peter was fairly certain his face was turning a bright red. He could feel the heat under his eyes and down his neck. “…Ah?” was the only intelligent thing he could muster.

Taking pity on someone who was obviously a little star struck, Dr. Banner waved him into the elevator. “I admit I don’t crawl down here very often. This time I’ve come for a vending machine.”

“Vending machine?” Peter echoed, totally taken aback even as he stepped inside.

“Specifically the one on 25th. The tech support guys have the best vending machines. It’s the only place in these offices that has Mike N’ Ikes. I missed the hell out of those, and now that they’re readily available, I’m taking advantage of my free pass.” He waggled his badge, looking almost mischievous. It wasn’t an expression Peter was expecting from someone who seemed uncomfortable in his own skin most of the time.

Not that Peter couldn’t empathize.

“I like peanut butter anything myself,” were the words that decided to come out of his mouth.  Wow, what a great first impression he was making.

“You’d better visit 76th,” Banner said sincerely, not seeming to mind their conversation was revolving around candy. “They have those big Reese’s cups.”

Peter had never had any reason to visit a floor that high up, but now he just had to. “Oh my god,” he said under his breath. They were words spoken in deep reverence. Aunt May would have been adamantly disappointed in his life choices, but then she might have been anyway.

The randomly somber thought reminded him as to what he was doing actually. Snooping around someone who was snooping around Stark Industries; in general, snooping.

“Indeed,” Banner continued, smiling easier than before. “Where did you want to go, by the way?”

“I wasn’t really heading anywhere in particular,” Peter insisted, trying to recall the floor he had wanted to start snooping on first. He’d thought of the word ‘snooping’ a lot in the last several seconds. “But I guess just put me on 50th. I like walking and working when I have a problem I can’t solve.”

Good, the alibi was out there. Peter let himself breathe a little sigh of relief. It was cool to know that Dr. Banner was actually very laid-back. Comfortable chatter about vending machines located around Stark Tower (“I swear, Tony installed one of those Japanese panty-vending machines sometime last year; Pepper was not amused” – “I accidentally found one that dispensed stuffed Avengers toys once, and I’m still not sure why it was there”) continued until they elevator chimed.

“It was nice to meet you Mr. Parker,” Banner said with genuine pleasure in his rough voice. “Hopefully your project is a success.” He held out a hand to shake.

Peter, however, was trying not to twitch out of his lab coat. His spider-sense was pinging him like mad, and he was fighting the urge to duck, run, or something. _Anything_. Forcing a wary smile, he took the offered hand. “Thanks m- thanks Dr. Banner.” _No matter how casual the conversation, don’t call an Avenger ‘man’ or ‘dude’ when you’re just boring ol’ Peter._ “It was good to meet you too.”

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Peter honestly wished he could have chickened out of his own mission. The floor was lit by bare minimum lighting which occasionally all flickered off, then back on again. Energy saving procedures were still a thing, even though Peter had seen the press release about how the whole building was powered by Arc Reactor tech. Government standards probably didn’t budge too much, even for Tony Stark. Especially not for Tony Stark. Except when they had to, he supposed.

He walked cautiously, keeping his nervousness in check by actually trying to do a bit of work. All senses were on high alert. Maybe he hadn’t hit the jackpot, but whatever badness was happening, it was happening nearby.  Why did he have to be lucky in all the wrong ways?

There was the distinct clicking of keys a few rows of cubicles down. Peter paused, tensing. The key tapping continued, and he slowly breathed out through his nose. Whoever was working, they hadn’t seen him. Running through his options, Peter eventually decided to go with ‘innocent intern’ and proceeded forward.

The clicking stopped before his left foot could leave the ground.

A long tense silence held, up until: “Hello?” Peter decided to improvise. Per usual. “Sorry – I was just taking a walk to clear my head. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

He could have sworn he heard a strange chittering noise before a man stood up from behind the walls of the cubicle. A man who looked oddly bland, his eyes a little blank – Peter took note of how immaculate his clothes were despite it being past midnight. Neither scientists nor engineers tended to keep up their appearances to that degree. “No need to apologize,” the man said, his words perfectly enunciated. “It is no problem, I was merely startled.”

He sure as heck didn’t look startled, Peter considered, and made his face grin. It probably looked nothing like a grin. “No worries I guess,” Peter tried to say calmly, and took a step backwards.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” the man continued to speak as if Peter hadn’t. “I – I was promised.” There was a strangely furtive look on his face before it disappeared, like a light being switched off. There was a rippling of skin underneath Mister Bland’s face. Peter flicked his eyes to see the guy’s ID. _Williams, Barney_.

Peter had the gut-wrenching feeling he wasn’t talking to Williams at all. “I’m _so_ sorry man, I was just wandering around yanno?” Another step backward. There were cameras all over the place obviously, and Peter couldn’t risk being anything more than a dorky intern while they were active. But if he could get something on ‘Williams’ here….

“She promised,” the voice that came out of Williams’ mouth was a growl and a whine at the same time. 

It was the last thing Williams ever said coherently. Peter watched with growing horror as the man’s mouth melted off – just, _off_.  A burst of effluvium and suddenly Williams’ face was made of a hundred eyes, bulging alarmingly and glowing bright teal. More skin seemed to drip off the man’s body and tentacles flopped ungainly to the ground. There were eyes on those too, Peter noted faintly, his mind screaming at him to run, run _runRUNRUN_.

He didn’t wait.  As much as he didn’t want to put his back to this thing, he certainly didn’t want to wait around and find out if they were going to sit down, have tea, and discuss how this was all a big misunderstanding. Behind him, he heard a scream of frustration and pain that reminded Peter of a billion nails on a chalkboard the size of the universe. The sound of a bunch of cubicle walls crunching into bits followed, and suddenly there was a bit of desk where his head might have been.

Perhaps, Peter thought, he could maybe get away with explaining parkour as a hobby before he started bounding over the cubicle walls in his panic.

 _It couldn’t have been a normal case of corporate espionage, noooo of course not_.

The elevator dinged.

Peter cursed aloud for the first time in a while, and changed his flight pattern to head away from the stairs. _Please be wrong button press, let there be no one in there, please please please—_

“Oh, Parker—“

 _Heck!_ Why not be Dr. Banner instead – _why not_? Hysterical, Peter practically plowed the man back behind the doors (trying to reign in super strength was not always so successful) as he leaped into the elevator “Stay inside!” he shouted and cared not if his voice cracked. “It’s right behind me!”

As he spoke, he felt a searing hot pain in his gut. He stopped moving, eyes wide from shock and a gasp stuck in his throat.  The inhuman noises that had been screaming seemed to crow in delight.

By this point, Dr. Banner seemed to understand that something very, very bad was happening, but he got hung up, staring agape at the bit of table leg that was sticking out of Peter’s stomach.

“Gh,” Peter said weakly, his eyes locked on the table leg as well while blood began to pool against his shirt. The doors shut behind them, just in time to hear a screech of metal and that unholy howling again as the elevator sedately moved upward. Peter could hear a muzak version of ‘The Girl From Ipanema’ playing in the background as his pulse rushed in his ears.

“Parker, oh my god,” Dr. Banner gripped his arms. Apparently he’d been about to fall over, which wasn’t too surprising. “I’m taking you upstairs – can you still talk? Don’t move – I can’t have you lying down yet, alright?”

“hng,” Peter replied elegantly, the shock wearing off into pain far too quickly. In the haze that was starting to hit him, he noticed some kind of slime on the bit of table leg that was poking out of his front. “G-gross,” he said faintly.

“It is gross,” Dr. Banner said, just relieved to hear Peter vocalizing anything coherent, gripping him tightly to keep him standing as still as possible. “JARVIS – I need an assist – get us up top pronto, and lock down everything on the 50th floor. Contact SHIELD!”

An English-accented voice replied. “Of course Dr. Banner.” Peter wondered why the voice sounded so tinny in his ears.

“Stay with me Parker.”

“Gonna try,” he slurred at Dr. Banner as best as he could. “Feel great, you can lemme go home. I can – I gotta go home. Home’sgood. S’jus’ a flesh wound.” He giggled at this, hissed in pain, and then frowned. Was he drugged too? Normally severe wounds just made him hurt all over and knocked him out solid for several hours. He’d usually just pull out the thing and bandage it until he got better. It had worked for him so far. He could just… he could….

His brain couldn’t hold onto this train of thought.

“Not a good idea. Tony!”

They were already at the top of the tower? “Oh goodie,” Peter blurbled the words past a small gush of blood, which dribbled down his chin and neck. He tried not to cough, but did, and more blood left his lips. He tried to bring his hand up to his mouth to stop it from getting on the probably really high class floor, but it didn’t really make it – he mostly ended up waving a hand at himself. Gosh the pain was incredible.

“He’s in shock – get the anesthetics – ”

It was also apparently the last straw. Black spots danced in his vision, obscuring the fact that he was being dragged over and laid out sideways on something flat.

“M’fine, I promise,” was the last thing he said before he fell unconscious.

 

 


	2. “My resting heart rate registers as a panic attack.” – Peter Parker, Probably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spider and a nurse walk into a bar. No. Wait - hang on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so minor note on timelines. I hadn’t gotten it sorted in my head when I started this because brain is no good – but basically: 
> 
> \- This is legit just before AoU  
> \- Buuuut it took them a lot longer to find all that shit/The Sceptre/Mind Stone and they’re still not done (obvi) with Hydra/SHIELD  
> \- So yeah time has moved the same, Pete’s still 17, but all other events have been moving in slo-mo  
> \- I will also be taking a few things from Defenders, Into the Spiderverse, and general Spider-lore
> 
> also uh, thank you??? to everyone who's read this, you ppl are amazing.

Fuzzy sounds that were probably voices sparked a vague awakening in Peter. The words were hushed and hurried, frantic. What really made him nearly jump was the hand that found its way around the pole still sticking out of his stomach.

“No…no touchy,” he rasped, making the hand release almost immediately.

“Jesus, kid, how are you awake?” That was, if Peter’s brain could recall correctly, Mr. Tony Stark’s voice. Maybe.

“Do you feel any pain?” Dr. Banner asked, urgent and just a bit out of his depth.

“Ohhhh,” Peter coughed near the end of that strained noise. “Yessir. Might’ve-something t’do with that piece of a table. This one.” He emphasized his near-whispering with a limp-wristed point in its general direction. “Right here.”

“Don’t even think about moving,” Banner warned sharply, leaning over him and obscuring Peter blissfully from the bright lights above.

“I know,” Peter managed, voice faint. “I got stabbed. Right here.” The vague hand motion returned.

“I wish I could appreciate your brand of macabre humor, but we need you completely out before surgeons pull this out of you and get you sewn up properly. Before you bleed out. Which you haven’t done yet.” This last bit was said in a voice that wished it had time to be confused.

“Did you accidentally use saline instead of sedative?” Stark looked too pale, his voice sounded too thin by half to be considered confident.

“I used what we keep on hand for Steve,” Dr. Banner’s voice could be heard muttering to himself in disbelief, though Peter was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that.

The teen coughed and arched as much as he dared, feeling pain sear through his body. He hadn’t had a full puncture like this for a while; he’d pleasantly blocked out how much it hurt. “Ngh – more painkillers,” he croaked.

Usually when this kind of thing happened, he didn’t have the luxury of anything sturdier than the strongest over-the-counter pain meds. With his metabolism, and his extreme extracurriculars, Peter often thought he was burning cash buying the stuff, so often only reserved it for the worst of his injuries.

That strange sensation of being drugged was still present, but fading. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do his usual ‘pull out, plug with bandage, sleep it off while lying on several towels’ routine with spectators. Especially these ones.

“W…whatever’s downstairs is,” this attempt at communication was cut off by another full body shudder and cough. “Still … a problem.”

Banner stiffened. “Tony. You should go to the 50th floor.”

“JARVIS mentioned locking it down. You called SHIELD.”

“Who or whatever did this to Parker is still there. In the building.” The emphasis was obvious, but panic shown through the previously subdued man in a way that seemed to make Peter’s whole being tense with a strange uncertainty. “I can get him help, but you gotta go.”

Only a heartbeat of hesitation. “Get him to the landing pad. Evac’ll be in less than a minute.”

Mr. Stark vanished from view, striding off without the appearance of hesitation. “Don’t die on me Parker!” was all Peter could hear from a distance before the familiar sound of thrusters and metal overrode the rest.

And while Peter tried to hazily plot out his next steps, not wanting to let it sink in that there really was only one good option and he just didn’t want to admit it yet –

 

A bit of story time.

The ‘suit’ had been a bit sketchy. A joke, really, from the start. Freshman year and freshly mutated, the get up of a sweater and gloves and not much else had been necessity, not preference. Ned hadn’t wanted to say so, because not all of it was a joke and they were high schoolers without an inch of independent finances. But it looked like a joke. Even with the mind-blowing work Peter had done making the web-shooters (not to mention the fluid itself), the getup kinda drummed down nearly any and all intimidation he could possibly muster in the middle of a fight. Mind you, the reason he hadn’t been unsuccessful was because boy did everyone underestimate him when he wore it; he had to admit there was at least one upside.

“You gotta get an upgrade or something. That’s the fourteenth time this week the bad guys just started laughing.”

“I kicked them all in the face,” Peter complained, heavily muffled by the mask. “That shut him up well-enough, don’t you think?”

“He _laughed_. Bad guys shouldn’t be laughing at Spider-man.”

“Even when I’m being funny?”

Ned gave him a look. A look that screamed ‘ _I’m your best friend but don’t push it_.’

“Oh, come on. I’m funny! I can be the funniest.”

“You’re certainly a grade-A dork-a-thon when you’re panicking,” Ned confirmed, managing to sound cheerful, patting him on the back as he spoke. “But back on topic; you need a better suit.”

Honestly, Peter had been working on a few ideas. For a whole year, in fact. The problem was, all of those ideas required state of the art tech, materials, and all the dollars that came with such things. Downgrading decent plans in his head to fit his absolutely austere standard of living was actually more of a pain than scaling up, so to speak. “I think I’m going to have to use what I can find at school.”

“Seriously? What could school have that would help?”

“I made these,” Peter waved one of his web shooters for emphasis, “using shop class scraps. I made my web fluid in chem. I think there might be options available.”

“I mean – I get that. But for a costume?” Ned shook his head. “I dunno man.”

“Hey, no matter how anemic, we’ve still got an arts program, right?”

Ned had been the one to hear about the Midtown Tech dance team replacing their old body suits. Conveniently, of the two colors on those suits, white was predominant. So, they dumpster-dove. Ned refused. Peter resigned himself to the task – it was his suit after all, and he was used to the practice – finding a few that fit and also didn’t smell like the floor of a taxi cab.

He laundered the hell out of them.

The second thing that Peter remembered to try and upgrade were the goggles. Sure, they helped him focus (the whole identity thing aside, the mask muffled the sounds and smells and _everythings_ of the city), but they could be better. Stylish, even.

Which is how the pair of them ended up rummaging backstage while the drama club attempted a rehearsal of _As You Like It_.

“Didn’t they have a two-way mirror? Wasn’t it for one of those cop dramas … uh ... I can’t remember what show they were doing.”

“Something like that,” Ned confirmed, opening one of the many prop closets, and yelping as things began to tumble out and he went to stabilize what remained. “Jeez! Who needs so much junk anyway?”

“Me, apparently,” Peter said as he marveled, slowly pulling out a large pane of what appeared to be glass. He spun it around, showing off its other, reflective side, and grinned. “I will never allow anyone to dunk on the drama department again.”

Additional hours were spent sneaking in while school was closed, making a nest in the art room while he silkscreened the design he’d sheepishly dared to conceive in his copious spare time. An additional all-nighter effort was needed when Peter realized there was pretty much nothing preventing him from taking shrapnel damage. Sure he was tough, but he didn’t _want_ to go through that kind of pain if he could avoid it.

eBay, he would note now, and forever, saved his wallet. And his life, probably. Turns out you could, in fact, purchase several yards of ballistic nylon for under twenty bucks. Lining the former dance suit with a couple of layers of the stuff was worth every penny spent. Kept him waterproof too. And was not as uncomfortable as he’d feared, amen.

“I have the feeling I’ll keep getting laughed at until I kill a man with my bare hands. Which isn’t happening.”

“Maybe, but who knows, maybe they’ll learn to associate the sight of you with pain and humiliating defeat.”

Peter spun around once, feeling at least less like he was stuffed into a marshmallow. He held his arms out, spread-eagled and shrugged. “Well? Does it at least look like someone ordered it online?”

“Your bar is so low.” At Peter’s exasperated head tilt, Ned hurriedly waved his hands. “But seriously dude, all jokes aside, it looks good. You did a great job! The eyes look intimidating, you know?”

Peter pulled off the mask. “Whew. Now I just have to wear this under my normal clothes, all the time. Getting this on was a pain and in case it’s a time-sensitive situation, I don’t wanna spend five minutes in an alley shimmying into this thing.”

“Yeah … don’t wanna get mistaken for a _lady of the night_ or something.”

“That was _one_ time!”

 

In the present moment Peter wasn’t exactly remembering all of this, but he was distinctly aware there weren’t a lot of options and he was still wearing the suit under his normal-wear. There was a monster downstairs, trying to pull off corporate espionage for some reason, and he had a table leg stuck in his stomach – through his stomach, in fact.

Oh, and Dr. Banner was attempting to sedate him.

“Maybe that last dose was a dud.” This was said with yet more disbelief than before. “I’ve got to put you under before you’re moved.”

He was aware the other man was holding a syringe, but Peter didn’t trust his voice to work well, what with his abdominal muscles being somewhat compromised. Instead of calling out, he used the arm he wasn’t pinning down by lying on his side and started patting Dr. Banner as a way to get his attention.

“Parker – stop – what are you doing?”

Peter’s hand made it to Banner’s sternum, and after some fumbling, grabbed the man’s shirt. Probably with more strength than he meant to; he could feel the thread and fabric pull dangerously tight under his fingers. One eye winced shut at the effort; the other opened and peered up at Dr. Banner with some ferocity – well, all that Peter Parker, verified on-the-small-side-of-the-average-teenager, could muster.

“P…promise. Don’t. Say anything.”

“I don’t understand – ”

He didn’t get a chance to process the request; Peter didn’t give him the time. The hand that had gripped the shirt moved right back to the table leg and tried to get a firm, purposefully sticky grip on it, in spite of the blood that had now somewhat dried on the surface.

“Stop – don’t – !”

In the span of those two words, Peter had yanked the table leg out of himself, pulling it out as fast as he could, but not fast enough to stop the sob of agony that tore through his throat. Almost immediately, he could feel his body try to bleed out and heal itself simultaneously now that the obstruction had been removed. Groaning, he flung the table leg with such vehemence, it absolutely embedded itself in the nearest wall with a sonorous ringing sound.

There wasn’t a peep from either of them for a veritable eon. Peter used this blessed silence to shudder violently for thirty seconds. Then he sat up slowly, carefully placing his hand against his stomach, and stared at the floor while reevaluating his life choices.

“…You’re not bleeding out.”

Peter looked up at one of the smartest – possibly _the_ smartest person on the planet. Their eyes met. Banner’s strayed to the table leg now one with the wall. A silent understanding began to form.

Peter tried to answer succinctly and succeeded for once. “Yup.”

“How are you not bleeding out.”

It wasn’t even a question. “Long story.” There was a small cough, followed by a full body wince. “…C-Can I get a bandage for this though? It’ll heal faster if it’s not just my hand over here.”

In a flurry, a roll of the stuff and a pile of gauze made its way around Peter’s waist, coated painfully in disinfectant. His head was still screaming at him, senses on overdrive, telling him that The Bad Thing was still here, or still happening. It was actually very difficult to not just twitch away and run downstairs. He felt somewhat wretched about not being able to help; benched before he even had a chance to assist.

There was a hand on his shoulder; he hadn’t noticed that his body had started to tilt to the left somewhat. The abrupt touch made him blink upward in surprise.

Dr. Banner stared at him, his face a whirling mix of emotions that eventually settled for some mix of ‘drawn’ and ‘aw fuck I can’t believe you’ve done this.’ “I should really ask you what…how you’re…how you’re doing …that.” He seemed to stop short, frustration and disbelief taking hold to furrow his brow. “But you’re not going to answer, are you.” Another not-question.

Peter, who was very busy regretting everything, barely remembered to respond. “Later?” he offered. Talking was _difficult_.

A strange look overtook Banner’s face after a heartbeat. “…You don’t owe me a full explanation, you know. I won’t demand that.”

The relief that flooded his veins was unfair, because he knew it was temporary. He would have to explain himself, somehow. As far as reprieves went, considering the myriad reactions he’d been expecting, this one was solid gold.

“I can’t – I can’t go to a hospital,” Peter’s voice was soft, the fear of being open and raw for someone he barely knew finally beginning to crash down around him. “Please – I can’t tell anyone.”

“I get that. But I don’t know how we’re going to explain the lack of a hole in your stomach.”

They both glanced down at Peter’s torso. Internally, specifically his, you know, vital organs, there wasn’t a lot of repair work left to do, but his exterior left much to be desired and all of his outerwear was dyed a shocking crimson. And damn it, the suit would need patching up. Again.

Peter rapidly moved through his rolodex of ideas, tossing stupid ones as fast as he could to get to the least bad option. He didn’t at all want to take advantage of Dr. Banner’s extremely generous nature right now, but there was not much else he could do and the floor was vibrating beneath him, reminding him that perhaps a scuffle was still ongoing. The spark of adrenaline had not ebbed, and his senses were still screaming.

“Guess I’ll have to lie about a hospital visit?” he offered, daring to sound a little hopeful underneath all the pleading.

“Peter,” and it was the first time Dr. Banner had used his first name. This meeting really should have happened under better circumstances. “I can lie for you, but I’m not very good at it. Tony’s gonna know you didn’t need life-saving surgery eventually.”

“Hospital records are private,” Peter tried, as if Tony Stark couldn’t – or wouldn’t – hack his way into another universe if he so chose. The look on Banner’s face seemed to resonate with this internal realization, incredulity all around his eyes.

The pain was down to a dull roar when he finally got to his feet. The hand on his shoulder was still there, unmoving, steady.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to … help?”

“You must be out of your damn mind,” Banner said with the calm of a zen master.

Both of them tensed when the building shook gently. The sound of glass, metal and concrete vibrating together made Peter a special brand of anxious. He attempted to show confidence, tilting his chin at Dr. Banner, but he mostly just looked tired – which wasn’t exactly the most inspiring of emotions to convey.

“Look, you saved a lot of lives tonight already,” Banner continued, his voice soft and strangely vulnerable. “If that table leg hadn’t gone through you, it would have tried to go through me. I would have been fine, but I don’t think anyone else would have said the same.” There was a short stop, words failing before Banner continued. “Just focus on yourself.”

The man seemed more certain than ever, and while Peter usually had the stubborn will of ten bull elephants on a moral high ground, the older man’s tone seemed to make him weak to reason. Honestly, Peter hadn’t even given Dr. Banner’s Not-Small Persona a second thought. He’d had no idea how that whole deal worked; the sudden onslaught of alternative scenarios to this moment had Peter’s head spinning.

Relenting took more effort than standing up to his full height (a nice, measly full height), but Peter did both, grimacing. Maybe he was healing but 1) that just meant he was itchy as hell in the one place he could absolutely not scratch and 2) the _pain_.

“Alright – okay. I’ll – uh. Go.”

“Take the helicopter.”

Peter gave the ceiling a long hard stare, incredulity and despair at his current circumstances building up uncomfortably under his skin. He finally drooped, sighing.

“Okay. I’ll take the helicopter.”

 

 

 

It wasn’t often he got to view New York at such a steady pace, especially not from this altitude. Peter allowed the EMTs to redress him, but he drew the line at lying down. What with his new-yet-rapidly-repairing-war-wound still being severe enough to be considered an emergency, and Dr. Banner insisting pain meds had been administered (and definitely after they confirmed he wasn’t sneakily going into hypovolemic shock) none of the folks riding with him felt the need to fight him as long as he stayed on the stretcher.

Peter’s eyes caught the drama of SHIELD vehicles and flashing police lights at the base of the Tower, and presumed enough cavalry had arrived to at least restrain the monstrosity that had perhaps once been Barney Williams.

Frankly, even if Dr. Banner hadn’t demanded the full truth (or even if he’d been in a state to give it), Peter Parker was feeling remarkably like the universe was out to screw him, personally. He had a list of reasons why, and the fact that The Wound didn’t even register in the top five of his biggest immediate problems was honestly very telling.

Instead of depressing himself with that top ten list, he worked on what he _did_ have in his corner. Since he wasn’t even barely eighteen yet, he was still a minor, which meant Aunt May was going to get called if she hadn’t already been contacted. That was actually okay.

 _“I have half a mind to kill you myself you amazing stupid brilliant jackass_.”

She’d said this in the middle of a very hard cry, so it hadn’t sounded as terrifying as it might have on paper. There had been an incident in the coffee shop she’d finally gotten the loans and starting capital for, and frankly Peter had been running on two Monsters and exactly ten minutes of power-nap over the course of three days, so the revelation of his identity as a superhero had been clumsy, stupid and precisely up Peter Parker’s alley. They were both fortunate the person trying to rob a coffee shop had been a) even stupider and b) barely able to see out of his sorry excuse for a mask.

So. He had Aunt May in his corner (being grounded for nearly a month notwithstanding), which was nice for cover stories and emotional support. And Ned, who could get him his homework. And more emotional support.

But he had no idea how to convince a hospital he was going to be just fine.

He also had no idea how he’d convince Tony ‘I have unlimited resources and I’m Iron Man and a Genius™’ Stark that he was just some ordinary human kid who had been properly hospitalized because he’d been pin cushioned by a monster. The man may have faded from Peter’s Childhood Idol to Really Weird Yet Competent Mother Hen, but he was still _Tony Stark_.

He sat in silence, deeply aware he hadn’t crept closer to a solution. But as they moved away from the Tower, the near-painful zing of his senses had ebbed to a low thrum of unease. This reprieve from his amped up fight-or-flight instinct made him take a real (but gentle) sigh of relief.

Because of the amazing adrenaline rush that deep-fried his senses, it took several seconds for Peter Parker to live up to his IQ. Panic really had to stop being his go-to in emergency situations. The ‘Spidey-sense’ (Ned’s name for it had stuck, to Peter’s eternal dismay) desperately needed honing, or tempering; he couldn’t afford to be a hero who was as frozen mentally as the people he attempted to save.

“Hey … can you guys take me to Metro-General?”

 

 

 

“Don't do me like this. I have three saints of patience and all of them are dead so I’ve only got me and I lost my contact information.”

“ _Please_.” And when that didn’t work, several more iterations of ‘please’ until they started to blur together.

“Why do none of you care that I could be fired for pulling all the stunts I have for you idiots,” Claire Temple said rhetorically. She was an angel amongst vigilantes who had incurable, near-suicidal tendencies. She was also giving the only child she’d ever known to be both far too smart and far too stupid to exist her darkest, most disappointed glare.

They had sequestered a room in an otherwise busy hospital. How, Peter wasn’t sure, but Claire seemed to know what she was doing when she immediately dismissed the EMTs with brusque confidence (they seemed to trust her more than not at all, and definitely more than they trusted Peter which, you know, fair – they didn’t have space or time to linger), and led him along the long, bustling corridors. He followed her not unlike a lost puppy.

To be honest, they’d met because of Daredevil. To be more honest, they’d met because Spider-man had found Daredevil in a ditch and had more or less saved his life. Claire did most of the work, but Peter took credit where credit was due.

Double D had an insanity plea prepared for him in the case of a dire courtroom situation and Peter wholeheartedly believed that he could convince a jury if needed. Claire thought he was a terrible influence and a very good man.

Peter wasn’t sure if those descriptors didn’t get switched up every so often, but he considered them all valid.

After that harrowing evening, Claire had given him her number and contact information, a little less exasperated than she had been with Daredevil. Concern had colored her eyes when she looked at him, but she hadn’t outright dismissed him. A small thing, but Peter would never forget it. “For when you need me,” she had said, with so much weighted certainty that Peter had the decency to look abashed. He swore he would have kept his mask on, and Claire hadn’t asked him to reveal anything, but Peter had been more than a little shaken by the near-death experience of another hero and had let down some walls. The act of faith had not gone unnoticed.

“How long should a wound like mine need anyway? A couple of days? A month?”

He received a look that should have skewered him all over again.

 _Oops_.

“I mean…I’m not good at estimating,” he clarified, loudly, for everyone present.

“If you were damn lucky to have all your organs un-nicked,” Claire rubbed the bridge of her nose as she spoke. “And had no spinal injuries, and were properly sewed up and sealed, you’d have to stay here at least a week.” As soon as he opened his mouth, which was also trying to grin, she raised a finger at him and silenced his joy as swift as a ninja. “That doesn’t fill up what a ‘normal’ recovery time would take. You’d need at least another week or two to be considered ‘well’ or ‘at full strength.’”

She had also called Aunt May. Mercifully, she would not be present for a short while longer.

“So…can you uh.” He’d noticed she had been heading to the phone on the wall, and had a small burst of terror.

She stared at him, now more curious than exasperated or sad. “Can I what?”

It was then that Peter realized he’d never explained he wouldn’t be needing actual medical attention – not like how she might be assuming. Heck, his brain had leapt around so much he had forgotten. Just because she knew what lay behind the mask didn’t mean she knew what was truth and what was rumor when it came to his abilities. What secrets were necessary? With Claire, health professional and natural magnet for super (and non-super) vigilantes, Peter caved a bit.

Just an inch.

“I uh, heal pretty fast. I don’t think I’ve ever needed stitches and I’ve definitely been stabbed before,” he rushed out before he could lose his nerve. “So it’s really more like I’d need to pretend – you know – that I’ve gone through the whole surgery thing. My boss – er, not my boss, my … uh, our … eh…never mind – anyway, he isn’t on a need-to-know basis with my – my night job, and he kinda saw me get impaled. I can’t exactly wave it off.”

Claire stared at him like she needed several days to process what she was learning, but simply didn’t have the time or bandwidth.

She held up one finger. Then lowered it.

“We’re tabling the ‘you’ve definitely been stabbed before’ thing. We’re putting a pin in that.” Claire inhaled and exhaled very deliberately. “So. You’re saying … you need to _pretend_ to be in recovery?” she finally asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t _ma’am_ me.”

“Okay miss.”

She grunted at him and considered the situation, hand to her chin, consternation apparent.

“…One week of fake paperwork, fake tests, and fake surgery. One week to make sure you’ve been in here for as long as any regular human should at least. One week to maybe get my ass fired.”

Peter squirmed under her excruciatingly intense stare. “…Yes?”

“Okay.” Another deep breath in, and out. “Do you have insurance?”


	3. Cursed is the Fool Who’s Willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter attempts to pretend to recover like a normal person without going insane, and Bruce Banner is a Good Egg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a Fix-It fic now I guess. No spoilers for Endgame because yeah there’s no way this is going down the same path. Hell I don’t even know where it’s going. It’s just happening and I hope some of MCU’s Greatest Mistakes won’t get highlighted here. 
> 
> Mostly because I like common sense, and have the belief that ALL of the Avengers know how to use it, drawing conclusions from their existence as, you know, human beings.
> 
> Peter is still a cinnamon roll with knives hidden in his gooey soft core. That is all.

The hospital was so loud. So very loud. He could hear all the soft cries, the snores, the murmurs of visitors and doctors and nurses. All of the machines that beeped and shrieked and wheezed. It was possibly because he was made to sit, stay, lie down – all the performative actions of a patient – that made it so unbearable. He had no outlet for his growing restlessness and no relief from his boredom.

In addition to her question regarding his insurance (Peter didn’t have it on him, but May would), Claire demanded to get a look at the wound properly, which meant getting into an actual hospital gown while his belongings were safely stowed away. Peter had wanted to insist otherwise but got shot down within the time it took for him to open his mouth.

“I don’t believe any vigilante who says ‘they’re fine,’” she raised her fingers and gave those air quotes, her gaze flat. “I don’t care if you’ve healed from stuff like these before, so don’t even start with me. We’re getting that wound as spiffy as we need to.”

He must have made a face, because Claire glared, unrepentant. “You wanted to do this?” Peter gulped in response. “Then we’re gonna do it right.”

“I’m really okay,” he murmured, uselessly. Claire was already instructing him to lie down so she could unwrap him. “It doesn’t hurt –”

Which was right about where his adrenaline finally wore off. Shock, the physical kind that was both great and terrible for injuries as traumatic as getting a pole through the abdomen, lasted longer for Peter. He figured it had something to do with his endurance being stupid for someone his size, but hadn’t ever really tested the full breadth of what that meant – usually because it involved getting _really_ hurt. Sure it had gotten him home before curfew, but it had also meant he’d calmly felt ligaments tear _as he was swinging home_ and frankly he wasn’t sure it was a win-win.

Nonetheless, it died off, pain hit his body like a truck, and Peter fainted backward onto the bed without any aplomb whatsoever.

When he blearily came to, he had visitors. With all the light he had no idea how much time had passed. There was still a pulsing throb of agony radiating outward from his midsection, so Peter decided to just lay still and keep everything but his ears offline. He did feel much better, but he’d also been impaled so – maybe while he had the chance he could, for once, lay still.

“I have everything you need right here,” that was Aunt May. She sounded less scared and more genially tired, which was a great starting point. There could have been many ways this wouldn’t have worked out well for him, but maybe she wasn’t mad because he wasn’t in an alley somewhere, insisting he was fine. Mentally, Peter tallied how many times that had happened and felt more guilt form at the number.

“Actually,” Claire seemed, strangely enough, hesitant. “I think you’re already covered.”

“What? You’re not – that’s not right.”

It sure wasn’t.

Claire, no longer emoting like God had personally shit in her cereal, seemed a little stunned herself. “I checked him in a few minutes before you got here. The moment I put his name in our system, there was insurance information provided immediately afterward. Does he have a job?”

“He interns for Stark Industries,” May said, just a little proud. It was tempered by wariness. “But he doesn’t have any benefits like that, not that we’ve known about.”

There was long period of silence. “He didn’t mention _that_. Do they do internships for high schoolers?”

“He never really mentions it period,” May promised. “And they do if they qualify and get permission. But again, I’ll need to see what ‘covered’ actually means, if you don’t mind. I know we don’t have great health insurance, but we also don’t take anonymous charity. Or – more likely – someone else’s mistake.”

All Parkers were notoriously allergic to financial aid they didn’t earn. At least Peter knew it wasn’t necessarily hereditary; one could inherit the condition through marriage.

He tried to call out to her, but his voice made the words come out all garbled. May still straightened, eyes wide with relief. She took no time at all to rush to his side and pet his hair in one smooth motion. A part of him insisted he should wiggle away, but all teenage embarrassment tends to fade when you can empathize with the potential reality of losing someone you love to a horrific, unexpected fate.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days. I’m too young for this,” she murmured, her lips against his temple.

“Sorry,” he tried and this time succeeded speaking. Barely.

Aunt May turned her gaze back to Claire, who had seemingly mellowed in her presence, and they shared a look of relief. This boded ill. Peter didn’t need two people in his life who could communicate telepathically and be capable of making him lie down and stay still, thanks very much.

“She gave you a few stitches, but you’ll likely be healed up in the next day or two at the rate you’re going.”

The mere thought of being stuck here for longer than the next hour made Peter’s nerves prickle angrily. He had to fervently remind himself that this was, more or less, a necessity. And possibly the best cover story he’d ever had in his life. His face must have communicated this discomfort to his aunt, because May’s eyes narrowed.

“Do I –"

“Yes. Take a vacation.”

 _Take a ‘_ vacation _.’ Take the_ helicopter _. Were all adults like this?_

“May, it’s not a vacation if I’m stuck here doing homework and pretending to be injured. That sounds like a job,” Peter murmured, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t I at least patrol _after homework_ when I’m better?”

Both women in the room shot him varying looks of disbelief. “ _Teenagers_ ,” Claire muttered as she snapped off her gloves and threw them into the nearest bin.

May was a little more pragmatic, to Peter’s eternal surprise. “If she checks you out and determines you’re in perfect health, then you can. Anything Ned sends your way is going to have to be finished first. And don’t think I won’t know about it.”

He winced a little when he tried to shift his body into a less neck-breaking position, and May’s face melted into concern. “Do you need painkillers?”

“I’ll need a lot. A … A _lot_ ,” he muttered, not feeling keen on the inevitable pile of morphine that might head his way. Unlike some, he absolutely hated the trip it usually sent him on when he took it.

Claire made a thoughtful sound. “I’ll reconfig your drip. How much would it take to kill you?”

“I uh, I don’t know?”

“Fun,” the nurse continued, her tone surprisingly light-hearted. “You know, maybe you should run some tests. If you haven’t already. I’m not a scientist or a trainer, but I’d recommend figuring out your limits. Otherwise someday the rest of us mortals might have to work with you when you’re unconscious or otherwise unresponsive – and that’s not going to be a fun day.”

She made sense. Peter didn’t like that she made sense, but she did.

As usual, it wasn’t a matter of need, but of possibility. Who could he ask for something like that? Who could he trust? He’d had nightmares that consisted entirely of being taken apart in the name of science; he wasn’t quite prepared to live them.

So here he was, sitting mostly upright in an uncomfortable hospital bed, watching Nova on PBS because everything else showing at this hour made him lose faith in humanity. And his phone wasn’t even with him; it was still at his workstation back at SI. All because some goopy monster decided to get fresh and stab him. Peter still had no idea what that thing, or former human, was, and what it had been trying to get out of SI’s database. He wanted to know more, but being stuck here without any access to the internet made his detective job difficult.

May argued and made a bunch of phone calls, but hadn’t come back into the room. Peter could barely hear her over the rest of the din, but she was definitely at the nurse’s station. Salient details were missed. Her tone, however, told Peter she wasn’t happy. Not in the sad way; in the ‘a man might die tonight’ way. Personally, as long as it wasn’t directed at him, it was definitely Peter’s favorite. When she finally returned there was a careful neutrality to her expression.

“It seems as though you have excellent insurance right now,” May spoke primly, as though the very idea was sacrilege. “ _Apparently_ you were supposed to have it all along. Did you know that?”

Peter remembered fellow intern Aileen Long, who had Type 1 diabetes, having to take a whole ass new part-time job just to pay for the monthly expenses such a disease incurred. He shook his head minutely.

“I thought so,” she grumbled. “Well. For the time being we don’t have to pay a cent.”

“That’s … good?”

May pursed her lips.

Peter felt the strong need to justify what had to be Mr. Stark’s insane need to compensate. “He did see me right after it happened. Maybe he feels bad.” He took a moment to consider the understatement that probably was. “You know. That I almost ‘died.’ In front of him.”

Her eyes softened, just a bit. “I suppose.”

She had to leave eventually, and Peter had to sleep. The thought occurred to him that he hadn’t really slept more than four or three hours a night for at least two weeks in a row. Peter didn’t just _have_ to sleep. It was impossible, with the combination of injury and exhaustion and pain meds, not to pass out.

So he did.

For eighteen hours.

Fuzzily, the first thing Peter realized was that Claire was shaking him awake.

“You have a visitor. And I need to change your dressings. Up and at’em bug boy.”

Ned was hovering outside the door when Claire finished re-wrapping his stomach. She had made an interesting noise when she inspected the wound, finding most of the greater damage gone and reminding Peter she’d take out his stitches by the end of the day – but otherwise said nothing. A quick pat to his shoulder, and she left Peter to his best friend’s mercies.

“It went all the way through?” Ned half-shouted before remembering where he was, and at the sight of Peter’s wince. “That’s metal, dude,” he ended up adding in a whisper.

“It literally was metal. But we have slightly bigger problems,” he said finally, voice cracking from sleep. He had meant to continue with an explanation, but stopped to eyeball the papers in Ned’s hands with an entirely justified look of loathing. “Tell me that isn’t all from Harrison.”

“…Okay it’s not all from Harrison,” Ned answered, a carefully flat look on his face. The sentence was overwhelmed near the end by a soft groan from Peter. “No it totally is, but at least it’s all we got today. Aside from that paper on Wuthering Heights.”

“I genuinely don’t think I’ve hated a book more.”

Ned grimaced. “I get what it’s trying to say, but the whole social message thing means I just hate all of the characters for different reasons.” He tapped the stack of homework once and set it down bedside. “I guess that means it’s good, but not enjoyable. You know?”

Peter stared at Ned.

His friend shrugged sheepishly. “MJ helped me out, okay?”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Hey! I take offense to your implication sir.”

“Feel free – I know I’m right,” Peter drawled, tired but glad that the world was once again on the right axis. He squinted up at the ceiling for a moment. “…I was saying something.”

“Um…was it that we have ‘slightly bigger problems’?” Ned tried, raising an eyebrow. “Other than you being hospitalized?”

“It’s only for real for a day or two, maybe less,” the prone superhero whined from the hospital bed. “That’s what Ms. Temple says.” He refocused with a shake of his head. “Right uh – both Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner saw me get injured.”

Ned blinked at him before his eyes rounded, widening hugely.

Before his friend could blurt out any inevitable positive excitement, Peter continued. “And Dr. Banner knows I heal really, really fast. And that I can throw a metal chair leg into solid sheetrock. So. I could be in a bit of a pickle.”

The excitement turned into growing horror. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Peter groaned, leaning back into the crunchy pillow like he wanted to sink into it and disappear. “I’m so screwed. I need like … a will. I’m too young for a will.”

“Uh … any plans for not explaining any of it without consequences?” Ned asked, the hope in his voice relatively weak.

The semi-to-mostly injured teen groaned loudly once again. “No. I have nothing. I could just say no, but Dr. Banner was really nice and didn’t ask me anything at the time. He might’ve just been being nice because of the whole ‘table leg through stomach’ thing though. Maybe he’ll change his mind. I’ve already assumed he’d tell Mr. Stark. I’m more or less boned, Ned.”

There was a moment of silence for Peter, who hadn’t really let the reality of his situation sink in until he’d hashed his situation out loud.

“RIP in peace my dude.”

Peter glared, his baleful expression enhanced by the true betrayal he felt but muted by eternal friendship.

The reality was that he burned at the notion of his secret being shared. He had kept it for a reason, and already three more people were in on it than there should be. Not to mention the horror of potential government regulation (pundits were very effing loud about this, but it hadn’t happened yet, amen), invasion of privacy, and _all_ of the legal issues of being revealed to the world at large – especially right now.

That was the difference. He wasn’t a superhero (though Ned insisted). Not like Captain America was a superhero. He’d learned this over time, and it was a harder lesson to learn than he’d thought. But his reasons for doing what he did stemmed closer to home than the Avengers, who operated on a scale he couldn’t begin to imagine reaching. He stopped bank robbers and muggers and (hopefully just potential) rapists. Mob activity too, though he hadn’t run into any big names yet (the Vulture had been mob-adjacent – not the same thing). Peter knew he would someday, but was grateful it would be future!Peter’s problem.

So no. He wasn’t a ‘real’ superhero. He was a _vigilante_. A point the police and some journalists liked to drive home on a daily basis, even when they were grateful for his presence. Peter had more in common with Daredevil than Iron Man, and forgetting that was dangerous.

He’d been burned enough.

But not enough to stop. It was joy and sorrow and pain and _everything_ , and overshadowed whatever else he did when he didn’t wear the mask.

Definitely not enough to stop.

Ned coughed a little. “Hey – look, I don’t think Dr. Banner would just … wreck your life like that. I mean, despite the whole angry green giant thing, you’ve seen videos of his interviews before that happened. He’s a chill guy.”

Peter was fairly certain the rage monster bit made ‘being chill’ more of a necessity than a character trait, but Ned wasn’t wrong. “Maybe. Still. I don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

Bless his heart, Ned made a valiant effort to derail Peter’s ever-darkening thoughts. “Wait so – hang on – you said it was a goop monster?”

“I said it was mostly made of nightmares, but there was also goop, yes.”

“But it looked human at first?”

“Might’ve _been_ human for the brief moment I met them at the start. I don’t know how that thing worked.” He paused. “I also don’t know what SHIELD did with it, or if they killed it or … honestly I should figure that out.”

Ned seemed like he wanted to say something else, but stopped short.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just … I dunno. Maybe you should let them handle it? Not that you couldn’t but – they’ve gotten involved now, and you’ve risked exposure saving Dr. Banner like that.”

Peter raised a tired brow. “You think I should let it go?”

His friend seemed reluctant to say this directly. Possibly because he knew that, while Peter put on many airs of affability – most of which weren’t airs at all – he was occasionally a pitbull that just would not let go of a problem until he solved it. “Wouldn’t it be … I dunno, better? You said you weren’t sure what Dr. Banner would do, and putting yourself back into it might make that worse. If he doesn’t know the whole truth now, he might figure it out that way.”

It was a testament to their friendship that Ned didn’t just outright say ‘don’t do this stupid thing, you’re gonna get exposed, it’s not worth it.’

Maybe the spider bite had made him lose that caution he’d held onto when he was younger, because all Peter could do was smile.

“I have to, man. No goop monsters on my turf. That’s one of the rules.”

Another way to say ‘I know but I have to.’

Ned knew it too. “Fine. But at least let me know if I can do anything to help. Guy in the chair, you know?”

Peter knew. The notion gave him nightmares, as much as it was also a security blanket.

Homework was distributed at last, and while Ned didn’t need to help Peter, they stuck together as always. The boring parts moved faster that way, and eventually Peter absolutely fell asleep sitting up, head down on his lap-desk, smothering the paper he’d been writing on his answer to Maxwell’s demon. Laptops were for rich people. (Interns, due to risks of the proprietary sort, were Not Allowed).

When he woke up a few hours later, he genuinely felt like he could jump up and climb buildings again, which was nice. Ned had vanished, but had left behind Peter’s favorite Delmar’s sandwich and a note that just told him to get his phone back.

Funnily enough, that happened next. And it nearly gave Peter a heart attack, because his phone came attached to one Dr. Bruce Banner.

“Hey Mr. Parker,” was the very relaxed – some might say forcibly calm – greeting a jumpy Peter received. The aforementioned Mr. Parker had completely lost track of time by this point, and had only been counting down from when the last rerun of Mythbusters had shown. Was it Monday yet?

“Dr. Banner,” Peter choked out, because honestly he wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“I didn’t think you’d actually get to a hospital,” Banner continued, edging his way into the room like it might explode if he went too fast.

To get an answer to an internal question and to avoid the incoming train that was as inevitable as _The Matrix_ intimated, Peter blurted out, “What day is it?”

This likely didn’t make him look all that wise or put-together, but Peter was happily settling into Anxiety Mode and didn’t care at that point.

“It’s Sunday morning. Almost ten. How are you feeling?” answered Dr. Banner, with a kindness Peter wasn’t sure wasn’t a trap.

“I’m okay. Better. What … no offense, but um – ”

“I brought your phone and uh, something else that was a lot harder to obtain,” Dr. Banner admitted, freely at first and then somewhat sheepishly. “I hope I’m not intruding. Your nurse said it was alright to visit you.”

Peter, trying not to be a jerk, nodded shakily and then shook his head. “Uh – no – no not a problem. It’s fine.”

The phone was offered before Banner moved any further. Peter accepted and tried not to cry at the number of notifications he gleaned from the brief glow of his lock screen. Too many. Will avoid. He looked to Dr. Banner, at first blank and then with unbidden worry.

Banner decided to shove both hands in his pockets and move forward. “I wasn’t followed.” That normally soft voice was a lot softer now. “A lot of people don’t know me from my angry co-pilot, so it’s generally safe for me to leave as long as I make it quick. Well. So Tony says, but I don’t think SHIELD agrees. Not that we usually agree.” He seemed nervous too, Peter thought, and this – somehow – made his shoulders unwind.

So he threw the man a bone. “I … realize I really can’t ask you keep what you saw a secret.”

“Ah. But I will. Although I’m a little concerned for your health. I presume from how Ms. Temple tried to take a chunk out of me she knows about everything else.”

The promise came so easily. Peter legitimately couldn’t believe it. Frustrating as it was, he would have to take the man’s word – at least on the surface. “You really aren’t gonna tell anyone?” he pressed, deliberately not answering the not-question.

“Mutants – er, enhanced folks – have it hard enough as it is. If anyone gets not wanting to be hounded for hero-freelancing-slash-indentured-servitude-and-possibly-incarceration, it’s me. Trust me.”

Peter blinked. “Don’t tell me that’s why you’re an Avenger.” It popped out of his mouth and surprised both of them.

Dr. Banner’s eyes widened in return and then he laughed, a single sharp noise that he coughed to cover. “Erm – no. Not entirely anyway.” He managed a small grin, tired but genuine. “The stories I could tell. But – that’s not why I’m here. At least, outside of asking if it’s okay to do some tests. You beat out Steve’s anesthetics and tranquilizers, so I’m wondering if you’re in need of more lasting effects when it comes to painkillers.”

Hairline cracks began to appear in Peter’s staunch disbelief. Desperation to avoid high quantities of morphine and not having to buy endless amounts of strong-but-useless over the counter pain meds might have had a hand in his softening wariness. “…Really? Why?”

Not that Peter enjoyed asking dumb questions, and looking gifted horses in the mouth. It was simply a fact of his life that most of the time those gift horses were Greek in origin.

Dr. Banner grimaced, and Peter noted a hint of self-awareness. “Because … you could get found out if something like this happens again. And if you work at Stark Industries, you have higher odds than most of having your life threatened by one thing or another. I’m just amazed it took this long to happen to an intern.” A contemplative look followed. “Tony was freaking out. You have your insurance thing all settled, yeah? Pepper met with a lot of lawyers at ungodly hours to get you covered.”

Mr. Stark freaking out in regards to his wellbeing felt remarkably strange. Almost as strange as Dr. Banner actively covering for him like this. It caused Peter to raise both eyebrows. To say this was not what he was expecting was an understatement. But – right, the man had asked a question.

“Um. Yeah. My aunt was … surprised.”

“Your aunt?”

Moments like these, Peter could bite his tongue. “Yeah. She’s my legal guardian.”

Banner’s face did something strange. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Not a lot of people outside of school knew enough about Peter to know he was an orphan. He preferred it that way. Some were too obtuse to make the leap. Dr. Banner was not one of those people.

“Anyway, we don’t really do charity, but I have the feeling she’ll make an exception just this once,” Peter pressed onward, trying to joke his way out of Awkward Feelings Town.

The doctor shook his head like he was shaking off the presumptions that were surely building. “I hope so. It’s the least we can do. Oh!” he palmed his fist, obviously forgetting part of the reason he’d even come. “Sorry – I do have one more thing for you.”

Out of his pocket, Banner pulled a small disc. “This is the footage. I want you to understand how hard it was for me to get this – both in physical format, and more or less ‘deleted’ from the system. JARVIS is a pain in the ass. I had to pull psychology out on them. I had to cite all three of Asimov’s laws to get them to give me this. I was basically your lawyer for three hours.” At Peter’s nonplussed expression, Banner iterated. “It’s video of you pulling your miracle. Or rather, the table leg. And our ensuing conversation about why you did something that should have been impossible?” To emphasize, he waggled the disc.

Peter’s face drained of color. His heart thudded to the bottom of his ribcage. “…I uh…hadn’t thought about that.”

He should have. Because Tony Stark was insanely paranoid and highly competent, and those two personality traits were a recipe for a tiny dystopian police state. Stark Tower was absolutely wired to the teeth with surveillance and defense systems that put most everything else on the planet to shame. The fact that it hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind until now was a sign he was absolutely more rattled by his injury than he’d thought.

Or just dumb. Really, really dumb.

“It’s okay – I did the heavy lifting, but I have to warn you that’s not a guarantee. If Tony ever asks JARVIS directly, the AI isn’t gonna say no.” At this, the older man looked resigned and shrugged. “I have no illusions that JARVIS didn’t completely erase it from their database. But as long as Tony doesn’t know, JARVIS isn’t going to alert him to it.”

Hands shaking, Peter took the disc and tried not to feel completely overwhelmed. “I … I think I owe you one,” he managed, voice squeaking slightly in the middle there.

Banner smiled, broader and without hesitation. “All I ask is that you be careful. And if you’d let me – with your Aunt’s permission – run a few tests? Even if you just get a migraine one day and normal Advil won’t cut it, it’s worth it to know, you know?”

At this point, it would have been insulting to ask if the doctor would keep the test results to himself. Peter wasn’t totally unaware of what said tests might entail, and sure he was still absolutely shook, but he could deeply appreciate what was being offered.

And he was a little curious to know himself. “Alright…just, yeah – I’ll – is there a way to text you or is it more esoteric for an Avenger?”

“Unless something’s changed, you don’t need a summoning circle.” Banner chuckled. “I have a phone. Tony threatened to embed one under my skin after I went missing in Ecuador once.”

Ecuador, like it happened last week. Like the weather.

The good doctor ended up writing his number down on a bit of Peter’s essay, and the fanboy in his soul clapped his hands and screamed happily.

“You posing your own theory on Maxwell’s demon?”

Peter started. He hadn’t thought that Banner would notice. “It’s kind of a homework assignment.”

“Kind of?”

He felt fourteen again. Not that this was a huge leap or anything, but Peter could feel his face turning red and he hunched his shoulders. He’d almost forgotten Banner was Doctor Bruce Banner of seven PhDs and he was still a high school student-slash-intern. “It … is an assignment. I’m just going overboard, I think. One page wasn’t enough though. My teacher won’t mind I think.”

“They better not. When you’re done, d’you mind sending it to me?”

“To you?” His voice didn’t crack. It did not.

“I love reading people’s thoughts on the matter. I can’t imagine any force in the universe ignoring entropy. But if there’s a theoretical chance, it certainly doesn’t hurt to know as many of those theories as possible. Could come in handy.” The man could be busy with any number of things, many of which were likely related to the safety of millions of people, and he was still willing to read Peter’s homework?

Well. Uh.

Peter was absolutely charmed. He tried to fight it, and underneath everything he still felt that cold tendril of apprehension of untimely and unwanted revelations – but Bruce Banner was a good person and Peter appreciated his intentions. For better or worse.

“Okay,” he croaked in disbelief.


End file.
